I am a song writer but this poem would not into turn into a song. I wrote it up at Wild Acres Retreat Center in Little Switzerland, NC in the Blue Ridge Mountains. Up there you feel as if you are suspended in time or that the bonds of time are somehow stretchy. Anyway, Time became dreamy real to me and thus the story began.
At first, I was just telling stories I had seen my chickens do or troubles I was having with my chickens. Then I realized they were stories, little essays, and so I began my chronicles.